


Can't Learn in a Day

by KingofBones



Series: Fëanorian Week 2020 [1]
Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fighting, Gen, Healing, Hithlum, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Torture, Original Character(s), Panic Attacks, Self-Harm, Swordfighting, Swords, Teaching, Valinor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-25
Updated: 2020-03-25
Packaged: 2021-03-01 03:01:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,493
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23308003
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KingofBones/pseuds/KingofBones
Summary: Maedhros and his brothers didn't learn swordfighting from their father.Just a little something for Fëanorian week, featuring my OCs, Anaerín and Anorín. This is set in an AU of a fic I'm in the process of writing, and I hope to have the first chapter done soon so I can start posting it!Day 1- Maedhros > Weapons, Adjusting/Coping
Relationships: Fingon | Findekáno & Maedhros | Maitimo, Fingon | Findekáno/Maedhros | Maitimo, Maedhros | Maitimo & Maglor | Makalaurë, Maglor | Makalaurë & Original Character(s)
Series: Fëanorian Week 2020 [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1676182
Comments: 2
Kudos: 13





	Can't Learn in a Day

_WHAM!_

Anorín‘s eyes, cold and hard, rested on him. Their mouth was pulled into a hard line of distaste that Maitimo knew only too well. He stumbled back, cradling his shoulder as it ached with the force of their blow, sharp spikes of pain radiating down his arm, and Anorín relaxed into that easy pose of theirs while they waited for Maitimo to collect himself.

His own brothers watched silently, knowing better than to speak up against Anorín lest they feel the teacher’s wrath upon them. Makalaurë shifted, looking to the ground, and that tiny bit of movement seemed to snap Anorín out of whatever patience they held that day.

They brought their sword up to rest on his clavicle. Maitimo froze, his heart fluttering at the feeling of the cold, sharp metal resting against his skin. Anorín‘s dark eyes turned ever colder and harder as they slowly traced the sword over his skin. Almost like a caress.

“Do you feel lucky, _Rúnya_?” Maitimo swallowed at how low and even Anorín‘s voice was, clearly threatening. The sword came to rest at his throat. “Do you feel this is a _game_? That just because we are familiar with one another, that my sibling and I care for you, that we would be sure to bring you no harm?”

Maitimo sagged in relief as the sword left his throat.

_WHACK!_

Maitimo cried out as he fell to his knees, his leg spasming in pain.

Anorín’s foot stepped onto the flat side of the blade Maitimo had dropped, their own sword hanging limply at their side. They stared down at him. “I can kill you, _Rúnya,_ with but a flick of my wrist. You are _lucky,_ Rúnya, that I hold back, that I chose to train you with the blunt side of this sword. For now. But at any moment I could forget to flip my sword and if you do not react in time, it could be your death. You rely too much on my control. We are not training you for _fun,_ or for _sport_. Others will not hesitate to use everything they have against you, and they _will_ aim to kill you.”

Maitimo did not ask what they meant by that. He kept his mouth shut, not wanting to anger Anorín further.

Apparenty, Anorín did not appreciate that.

“Get up,” they spat, and stepped back, off the sword. Their eyes blazed with anger. “Get up and face me. Perhaps I should show you how others will be against you, and maybe that will bring the lot of you to take this seriously.”

They raised their sword, and Maitimo scrambled back as Anorín advanced-

## “ ** _STOP_**.”

Anorín lowered their sword, turning to look at Anaerín, who had just entered the clearing where they had been training. Their face was an unreadable mask. “Spar with Malwaráca. If you insist on dealing out more realistic situations, then do it on someone with a bit more experience in the matter. We are here to tech them, Sanni, and they will not learn everything in a day.”

“At this rate, they will die in one,” Anorín hissed.

Anaerín‘s gaze suddenly became as sharp as Anorín‘s blade. The clearing stayed deathly silent as the pair seemed to share a silent conversation, not even Ambarussa daring to make a move.

Eventually Anorín growled and stalked off to the other end of the clearing, while Anaerín looked to where Maitimo still sat, paralyzed. “Malwaráca, go with them. I will work with Rúnya and Káno for a while. The rest of you, pair up and practice what you have learned so far. I will work with each of you in a bit.”

Why _were_ they teaching them to fight? What changed for them to go from kind and gentle, the way Maitimo had always known them to be, to being brutal and harsh? Maitimo pondered this as Makalaurë helped him up. What had they done wrong?

Anaerín sighed, taking off their outer robe. Their shoulders slumped, and Maitimo could swear they seemed weary and worried, which scared him. The last time they had been that way…

“I’m sorry,” they offered quietly, watching their sibling fight. “I wish there was a better way to teach you. I wish we could show you nothing but kindness.”

“Why _do_ you teach us to fight?” Makalaurë asked, still holding Maitimo’s elbow tightly.

Anaerín turned back to them and drew their sword, motioning for Maitimo to pick up his. The sleeve of their tunic slipped back and he caught a glimpse of bandages wrapping around their arm. He took in the gaunt face, the eyes with heavy bags under them that watched him closely, and felt a weight sink into his stomach.

Anaerín sighed. “We want to protect you. I know it doesn’t seem like it, but this… we care about you. We want to know that should anything happen, you’ll be alright.”

Determination set itself on their face, and their eyes hardened, and Maitimo forced himself to match their expression. He had questions, but he knew when Anaerín wouldn’t answer them. Beside him, his brother rolled back his shoulders and did the same.

Anaerín‘s eyes twinkled. They brought their sword up, holding it at the ready. “Now, what have you learned?”

* * *

Maedhros cried out as he fell to his knees, breathing ragged, and every part of his body screaming at him to stop. He ignored it, willing himself to get back onto his feet once again.

“Rúnya, stop. You don’t have to do this now.”

He looked to Fingon, who was looking over him, his brow creased in concern. He raised his sword, left hand shaking with exertion. He didn’t realise it was _his whole body_ shaking. “Again.”

Fingon swallowed but got back into position, waiting for Maedhros to make the first move. 

It was over quickly again. Possibly even faster than the last round, and Maedhros felt tears prick in his eyes in frustration-

He tried to get back up, but his legs gave out and he ended up crashing back down onto the ground, a pile of limbs too exhausted to move. He heard cursing and felt a warm, calloused hand rest on his shoulder. “Russo? Are you alright?”

“He’s bleeding, Ulbanaiwë, and shaking like a leaf. Come, we should get him back to bed. He’ll need another week to recover from this alone.”

Fingon’s and Anaerín’s worried faces greeted Maedhros when he opened his eyes, and Anorín was giving the Ñolofinwëan a flat look with their arms crossed over their chest.

“I’m fine,” he grunted, pushing himself upright. “Help me up, we can keep going-”

“No, Rúnya, no more for today-”

“Finno, help me up.” He held his hand out to Fingon, who stared at a moment, then shook his head. “ _Fingon_.”

“No, Russo, they’re right. If you can’t get up on your own, you shouldn’t be sparring,” he said firmly. Then his face softened. “Give yourself time-”

Maedhros could feel his heart starting to race. “I don’t _have_ time,” he snapped, instantly regretting it as Fingon reeled back in surprise, but he kept going. “We have a _war_ going on- Moringoþo could be at our doorstep at any moment, I have to be able to _fight_ -”

“Rúnya, ** _stop_**.”

Anaerín reached out and Maedhros flinched back, but Anaerín didn’t stop. Gentle fingers took his hand in theirs.

Their fingers ran over each of his, never stopping on any of the scars, never tracing them, just massaging them and giving him something to focus on and ground himself to. They worked their way to his palm ever so slowly, then to his wrist. He found himself being soothed by the sensation, breathing in time to the circles they rubbed into his hand, and slowly he relaxed.

Finally they brought his hand to their mouth, kissing his knuckles, and Maedhros realised that Fingon and Anorín had left. Anaerín met his gaze. “Slow down, Rúnya. Allow yourself time. You’ve been through a great deal, and much will be different now. You can’t learn to wield a sword left-handed in a day or two.”

“But I can die in one,” he muttered.

Anaerín looked pained. “Rúnya…”

They traced one of his fingernails with their thumb and sighed. “We’re not trying to prevent you from training. Honestly. It’s good to see the fire in your eyes again. But you should know that the weak are the first to fall in battle, Rúnya, and you are still weak yet. You cannot take on Moringoþo now.”

“Let some of your strength return before you start training again,” they continued. “Ulbanaiwë, Fánaphil, Anorín, and I will protect you until you are ready, and your brothers still live across the lake. Should anything happen, you’ll be alright.”

Maedhros slumped, exhausted and defeated, and Anaerín pulled him against their chest, fingers running through what hair he had left like he was a child again. For a moment, he allowed himself to feel like one.

* * *

**Author's Note:**

> Anaerín and Anorín are my OCs. They’re twins.  
> Rúnya - Maedhros  
> Malwaráca - Celegorm  
> Ulbanaiwë - Fingon  
> Fánaphil - Fingolfin
> 
> Bonus points to anyone who can figure out the meanings of the names!


End file.
